[Repost] The most realistic case of mother-son incest

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Chapter 1 Unforgettable Past

My sexual development is quite strange. Strange perhaps because no one talks about it, making me feel like only I
am like this; I don't know. Therefore, I hope everyone will talk about some real things (maybe not everyone
has these experiences, please don't fabricate). Anyway, online you don't need to use your real name, nor do you need to show your face or leave a voice message; feel free to speak your mind
. I also hope this issue can be discussed scientifically (don't feel ashamed while discussing it, it's
normal).

Just to clarify, if you want to get to know me, I'm very welcome, and I won't refuse to meet you, but you must bring your
mother and proof of your mother-son relationship.

I was definitely before first grade when I first had sexual fantasies about my mother. Due to the passage of time, I
can't recall the exact age now, but it was very, very young.

I clearly remember, more than once, in my dreams, I loudly said to my mother, "Mom, I want to take off
your pants and touch you." When I said those words, I experienced a kind of taboo-breaking pleasure. Although I didn't know
the word "incest" back then, I understood it was a very "vulgar" thing. To say vulgar things to my mother, whom I respected in my daily life!

In the dream, my mother didn't react, so I unbuckled her belt, feeling a strange pleasure,
mystery, and relief, and reached out to touch her genitals. The location was always her office or a nearby playground.
However, I had never seen an adult woman's private parts before, so I couldn't feel anything in the dream.

This kind of dream only happened a few times. Other, more frequent childhood dreams were simply running into a store, smashing shop windows to get food
, of course, knowing it was a dream. Or being chased by monsters.

I also had some homosexual dreams, usually involving handsome child stars from movies at the time, such as
Pan Dongzi (most Chinese people around thirty years old know him, right?). A few times I dreamt he was playing with a child close to my house
—playing with his penis. I went up to him and we touched each other.

Until I was in junior high school, I still imagined handsome men from
comic books, including Lu Bu and Zhao Zilong from the Three Kingdoms period, and the Yang family generals, imagining them as my wives—male wives—
and traveling together. Having such skilled and handsome men with me would be incredibly romantic. They
would often fight over me, and I would be the mediator.

As for sex, I still fantasized about touching; I never thought about anal sex or anything like that because I couldn't get an erection then
. I didn't know what these historically handsome young generals were like; my impressions came from the comic book depictions. I then
feminized their personalities according to my own interpretation.

But regarding my Oedipus complex, I was very strange. I only had these thoughts in my dreams at night; during the day, they were
almost nonexistent. It wasn't that I was afraid to think about it, but rather that I never thought about it at all; sometimes, thinking about it even made me feel nauseous.
I was only a few years old then, and I didn't have much of a moral compass. As for homosexuality, I almost never thought about it when I was awake. I actually thought about it during the day
during junior high. But back then, I didn't know that homosexuals could have anal sex, and my genitals weren't erect (I was under fifteen).
I remember once inviting a male classmate home to play, and we stripped naked and played around on the bed, even rubbing our butts together
. But it was just curiosity, excitement, and fun; there was no sexual pleasure.

This makes me wonder if a person's sexual orientation is formed around eleven or twelve years old?

Other sex-related things happened during my childhood, so this isn't a dream.

I often played with some girls, playing games, one of which involved injections
. Once, I saw my sister and another girl her age exposing their breasts in front of a public restroom, using a
popsicle stick they'd picked up from the ground to stick it into each other's nipples. My sister was very young then, I don't know how young, but she was only three years older than me, so she
hadn't developed yet either. When they saw me, they told me not to tell my mother. This shows they knew it was shameful,
but they still did it; I wonder what that felt like.

I really enjoyed it when my sister touched my butt. I remember once during my afternoon nap, I pulled down my shorts and asked her to touch me before
I could fall asleep. It just felt good; I didn't have any sexual feelings. My sister always said it wasn't right, but we did it anyway
.

Later, until I grew up, my sister was always very good to me. Once, when I was young, I touched my sister's breasts in the kitchen
. They felt very soft and comfortable, but I felt disgusted. Especially when I saw her smile at me. I
can't think of anything softer than a woman's breasts.

Even recently, some of the letters my sister wrote to me contained strong sexual advances. Once, she heard that
I had published an article that caused a sensation, and she wrote saying, "...many young girls must be infatuated with you. Could you send
me a copy so I can be infatuated too?" And so on, countless times. I felt uncomfortable after reading them. I wonder
what my brother-in-law would think if he read them?

This is one of the reasons I firmly believe that everyone has incestuous desires!

I swear my sister is a beauty. If her wedding makeup photos were published, those Miss Hong Kong
and Miss Asia contestants, if they had even a shred of self-awareness, would all want to eat shit. But I'm just
not sexually attracted to her. Meanwhile, although my mother was beautiful when she was young, she looks much older after giving birth to me, and I've always had a high sex drive for her
. Isn't that strange?

The only difference between my mother and sister is: my mother is strict, rarely smiles, and protects her family; my sister is gentle and always puts
others before herself.

I've also played similar games with other girls. There was a girl a few years older than me who loved playing this game with me. She
would insert a popsicle stick into my foreskin, and I would insert the stick into her vagina. Then we'd put on our pants, pretend nothing was wrong,
walk around casually, and then come back to remove it. Of course, it hurt a little. We called this game "Doctor
's Injection."

At that time, I felt uncomfortable with the girl's genitals because there was a lot of dirty fluid. I thought it was urine, but she said it was water used to wash
her bottom. I actually quite enjoyed giving her injections in her butt, but I didn't think about it sexually; the pleasure came more
from the mystery.

Our parents both worked at a movie theater back then, and our activities included there. Because children of employees could...
Outsiders could come and go freely, but no one else could. When there was no movie showing, the place was completely empty. There was a wall surrounding the theater,
and between the wall and the theater, there was nothing but birds and weeds growing from the cracked cement.

We once had a teenage nanny; compared to me, she was an adult, a very grown-up.
I don't remember if it was after my mother gave birth to my sister. When I was little, I was quite handsome and quiet, which might have attracted some girls'
attention. One time, when no one was home, she took me to bed, put down the mosquito net, and then took off her clothes, undressing me as well
. Then she lay down and wanted me to press against her and suckle her breasts. I sucked twice and said there was no milk, it didn't taste good. She
then spread our legs and sat opposite me, pulling my penis towards her vagina. Of course, it wouldn't go in; it didn't even touch
, and it hurt my foreskin, so I refused to do it (I regret it now). At that moment, my mother came home and knocked on
the door. She quickly got dressed and warned me not to tell anyone.

I honestly can't remember if I told anyone. Sometimes I think I didn't, sometimes I think I did. It's
been so long. She probably didn't have any body hair back then, because I don't remember. I felt a strong aversion to anyone with body hair back then
, so if she did, I certainly wouldn't forget. This is just logical deduction, not memory.

Later, she went to work as a nanny for someone else. Once, I walked by and saw her carrying a child on her back, chopping vegetables.
She smiled and called me over, but remembering how she pulled my penis, I immediately shook my head and ran away. Damn! This incident
reveals a woman's true nature. If a woman is cold and indifferent to you, it doesn't mean she's not interested in sex, but rather that
she's not interested in you. Or maybe she's just pretending.

Sometimes when I read a poet describing a pure and ethereal beauty, I feel sorry for the poet: she doesn't like you
! If a woman likes a man, she won't be like a celestial being, but like a prostitute, even more cheap than a prostitute
—she can have sex with him without paying, and afterwards she'll be very happy.

In my early twenties, I returned to my hometown, hoping to find those women from back then to erase my regrets. Unfortunately,
I couldn't find a single one, and I didn't know how to find them, nor was I particularly embarrassed.

There was another woman, around twenty or thirty years old at the time, who frequently visited my home. One winter, she and my
mother were knitting and chatting. My feet were cold, and she told me to put them inside her clothes. I mischievously
kicked her breast, and she glared at me and gave me a warning. But I disobeyed and kicked it again, and she angrily took my
foot out. I remember there was a slight sexual undertone to that, because I remember
feeling incredibly ashamed at the time. Other things didn't make me ashamed.

When I was seven, my family moved from this small county town to the city, where I continued to attend second grade. The only
age I clearly remember starts from this point. The city was crowded and noisy; there were no secluded places, and the city kids hadn't played
those kinds of games. This continued until I was a teenager. I believe that sexual attitudes in rural areas are much more open than in cities.

In the past few years, my parents' relationship deteriorated. My father had an affair, they argued, fought, and almost divorced. My parents
' fighting was terrifying for a child; all I could do was cry and tremble. They
fought behind closed doors. The shouts and noises inside were deafening; I kept thinking my father was dead, then my mother, almost driving me
insane.

They ultimately didn't divorce for the sake of the children. My father was transferred to work in another city, returning once a year to visit us and
send money. He disappeared from my life from then on. My mother was left to raise the three of us sisters alone.

One night, I was sick, feeling dizzy, and my mother asked me to sleep with her. I wasn't keen
because I couldn't stretch out when sleeping with her, but I didn't object.

As I lay down, my mother put up a mosquito net. Because of my dizziness, I closed my eyes. After a while, I felt
something strange in my genitals, so I opened my eyes and found my mother straddling my legs with her back to me. At the time, I was only wearing a very thin pair of
shorts. Although my penis wasn't erect, its natural length and elasticity pushed the shorts up about an inch
. My legs were together. My mother was wearing white briefs and a white tank top. She was squatting, one foot to my left and the other
to my right. Because I was sleeping on the outside, she straddled my legs and reached under the mosquito net to keep
mosquitoes out.

Her lower body brushed against my erect penis. When she looked back at me, I quickly closed my eyes,
but left them slightly open. I saw her look back at me, then look elsewhere, and then intentionally or unintentionally
rub her genitals against my penis again. Seeing that I didn't react, she boldly looked down at my genitals for about ten seconds before turning off
the light and going to sleep. I wasn't an adult then.

I didn't feel sexually aroused by my mother's actions; instead, I felt disgusted. Looking back now, I think I was
a really strange person. Because I remember before my father passed away, I often slept between them. One time, I
suddenly felt aroused again, not in a dream, but in reality. I reached out and touched my mother's thigh.

She stirred, so I stopped, then gently stroked it again, deliberately moving closer to her groin
. When I touched her private parts through her underwear, she flinched. I was startled, but soon
touched her thigh again, slowly moving upwards. She flinched again. This time I dared not move, because I had assumed
she was asleep, but now it seemed she was probably awake. So I cried out that I needed to pee, and my parents turned on the light
. I heard my mother tell my father that I was naughty in my sleep. I pretended not to understand, but I was mortified. Of course,
I never dared to do it again. At that time, I couldn't get an erection and didn't understand sex, but that action had a genuine sexual intent
.

Now, when my mother touches me, I feel disgusted. Isn't that strange? If I had
been as bold and incestuous as I am now that night, would my mother and I have had sex? At that time, my upbringing taught me
that sex was shameful, and incest was something I had never even heard of, let alone considered.

By around twenty, I had lost all interest in homosexuality, but my Oedipus complex had intensified. At first, I would
secretly imagine having an unusual relationship with my mother, but when I actually saw certain parts of her body, I felt disgusted (because
they weren't attractive). Later, it became unconditional liking.

Wherever I work, my mother always follows me. I often annoy her, and arguments are common, but she just stays with
me. I often secretly write stories about incest between mother and son. Back then, there was no internet. After writing, I'd hide them for a while,
and once my emotions calmed down, I'd regret it and burn them immediately. But the moment I turned around and saw my mother, I'd be angry again. Actually, when I wrote those things , I wasn't thinking about my mother herself, but about another woman—a voluptuous woman
in her thirties or forties with a beautiful face—who didn't even exist. 　　I've analyzed my incestuous psychology and discovered that I wasn't truly sexually attracted to my mother. More than anything, it was a dissatisfaction and resistance to societal oppression. I've always lived in a place that suppresses humanity, and I deeply despise a certain organization . This shameless thing calls itself the mother of the people, and I think the best way to deal with it is to have us incest enthusiasts rape this self-proclaimed mother of the nation. Because, in the decades it has ruled the country, it has spiritually raped the entire nation countless times! 　　Of course, there are also those who are being raped by it while loudly applauding it. These people are either born prostitutes or mentally challenged; I won't even bother mentioning them. As for fellow enthusiasts elsewhere, I believe it's also a result of excessive repression , just not as intense as mine. Easterners are subject to far stronger moral constraints than Westerners (fuck Confucius !), and Chinese creativity is far inferior to that of Westerners. Therefore, for the strength of the nation and the people , let's commit incest! 　　Incest, with mother-son incest as its highest form, is also the ultimate anti-traditional and anti-moral act. I have sexual interest in ordinary women , but sexual relations between mother and son bring a powerful pleasure of breaking free from mental shackles and shattering all moral constraints, achieving intellectual liberation. While morality is essential for social stability, its control over thought is extremely harmful. I suggest everyone adhere to moral principles in their actions, but have no scruples in their thoughts. 　　Taboos regarding mother-son incest or other incestuous acts stem from two sources: sociology and biology . Sociological issues are easily resolved with mutual consent and secrecy. Biologically, we all know that thoroughbred horses are inbred. While this breeding method may lead to harmful genes meeting and causing genetic diseases, it can also result in superior genes meeting and making offspring even better—it has its advantages and disadvantages. If you can't bear the shock of having a freak, simply don't have children. 　　Society is progressing; there's no need to cling to outdated morals and laws. If you're powerless to fight against the law and public opinion, just do it secretly with a clear conscience. 　　I really can't think of any reason to treat incest as a monstrous threat. 　　My view is that if you and your mother or other relatives are mutually attracted, and she (he) agrees, then go ahead and have sex! It's practically an ideal situation! If you invite me to visit, I'll be so grateful I'll kneel down and kiss your feet. 　　Now, back to myself. 　　My mother has given me so many regrets. 　　In the days that followed, some things happened between my mother and me; I can't remember the exact time or sequence , so I'll just use a certain day as an example. I write down everything I remember. One summer, my mother said a thorn had fallen into her clothes and embedded itself in her flesh, and asked me to help her find it. At that time, I wasn't particularly interested in incest, nor was I eager to help my mother , but I did it anyway. 　　The thorn was indeed there, and very small, about a millimeter, mostly embedded in her flesh; it was hard to find without careful observation. My mother couldn't have found it herself, as it was right in a blind spot—below her neck, at the collar. For convenience , my mother changed positions several times, tilting her head back and lying on the bed, while I pulled open her vest, revealing her breasts without a bra. 　　My mother's breasts weren't pretty, a bit flat and sagging, but very white and tender, and her nipples weren't the black I disliked, but brown, only slightly larger than a fist. With her face tilted back, I could feel her warm breath on my lower abdomen, and I felt a surge of desire. When I was twenty-one, I was lucky enough to find a job in a very wealthy and open city, and my mother came with me. For the first time, I had enough money and could buy adult videos on the street. 　　This was perhaps a misfortune for me. After watching a pornographic film for the first time, I also ejaculated while fully conscious for the first time in my life . After that, masturbation became uncontrollable, and I developed a strong interest in women. 　　One day, while helping my mother serve dishes, I masturbated frantically, ejaculating into a dish before taking it out. I kept my eyes fixed on the door, believing my mother hadn't noticed. But what happened later made me suspect she had noticed. Because she didn't touch that dish at all! Why?! I was terrified! 　　Another time, I was masturbating on the bed with the bedroom door wide open. I had checked beforehand; the room lights were off, and the living room light shone brightly through the mosquito net, obscuring the view inside. Then my mother walked past my doorway. I boldly knelt on the bed, pointing my penis at her. 　　She looked inside, stopped, and then came in. I was terrified again. I quickly stopped. 　　My mother came to my bedside and softly asked if I was feeling unwell, then lifted the mosquito net. I was completely naked and hurriedly said, "No, no." She gripped the opening of the mosquito net tightly. She tried to lift it from another angle, but I grew impatient and loudly refused in a frustrated tone, finally getting my mother to leave. A while later, I got up and looked outside again, only to find that I could vaguely see inside the net through the doorway! Good heavens! What was going on? Why couldn't I see anything when I stood outside looking? Was some divine intervention at play? What would have happened if I had let my mother lift the mosquito net? Why did I want it so badly, but back down at the last minute? 　　Another day, I felt unwell and lay on the sofa. My mother came over and asked me what was wrong, then offered to massage me . I agreed. She knew a little about medicine and massaged me very carefully. When she reached my groin, she vaguely saw my erect penis under my shorts, then suddenly stopped, turned around, and left without saying a word. 　　If my mother rubbed my penis with her genitals that night when I was a teenager, making me realize she had feelings for me, then when she massaged me this time and saw my penis was erect, she should have known I had feelings for her too. 　　But we kept going like this until I finally got my first girlfriend.

This girlfriend was hard-won, and I owe it all to my close friends from high school.

My mother's teachings from a young age instilled in me the belief that staring at women was lecherous, flirting with girls was immoral
, dating was irresponsible, and harassing women was

utterly despicable. For example, one day my sister mentioned that a man at her workplace kept staring at her, and my mother exclaimed in disgust, "Shameless
!" Growing up surrounded by this kind of influence, my natural instincts for finding a partner, though developed, were suppressed.
Like a seedling growing under a giant rock, I struggled to grow, desperately yearning for sunlight and rain.

My older and younger sisters received the same education, but the damage wasn't as severe. They could remain demure
and reserved, and boys still pursued them. Their ladylike demeanor only increased their attractiveness
.

But I was doomed!

Whenever I saw a girl I liked, I seemed to lose the ability to speak, falling silent. When I wanted to pursue or
express my love, my mother's shadow haunted me, leaving me speechless with a thousand words in my heart, and my limbs wouldn't
obey my commands.

While I was alone, studying and working hard, my friends were having affairs with countless women. But they
had no money. As for me, after years of hard work, I had accumulated some savings. So I hung out with them again.

These old classmates had all distanced themselves from me during our school days because of my mother. Whenever they
came to visit me, my mother would call them little hooligans. And every time I caused trouble at school and was asked to see my parents, my mother
would blame all the blame on my good friends, and they still harbor resentment to this day.

"Hey, does your mom still care about you? Won't she come to scold you again if you're with us?"
This was the first thing my old friends asked when we got together after a long time.

I impatiently interrupted them, telling them that I was different now. They were skeptical, but I quickly proved
them wrong.

I never dreamed they'd slept with so many women during the years I sat in my office like a hermit
. When they talked about women at the dinner table, I thought they were just bragging, and I looked at them with disdain and mockery. They quickly proved
themselves. At the second gathering, everyone brought a respectable woman they didn't know to accompany them. By our fifth
gathering, more than half the women had slept with them.

I felt inexplicably sad and resentful. At the time, I wasn't thinking about how many women I'd slept with; I just thought that I was better than these guys
in terms of looks, figure, education, and income, yet I couldn't even find a wife! One of
my friends noticed my distress and expressed sympathy. One day, after drinking, he said, "Ah Xun is treating, we're
going to play around with women, haha." Everyone probably felt sorry for me. At the next gathering, they introduced
me to a girlfriend.

Before that, they taught me a lot about playing around with women:

"You're thinking too highly of women, that won't work. You have to see every woman as a prostitute!" "

Be dashing, don't act like a pedant!" "

We'll brag for you, don't look down on us. Women are stupid, they have no judgment. If others say it's good
, they think it's good. One compliment from us is worth a year of your education."

"A woman is only considered 'successful' if you sleep with her, otherwise you're a failure!"

These golden words still move me to tears! But at the time, I was skeptical, even
arguing with them. A friend impatiently said, "You think you're so innocent? So high and mighty? I used to be
like you, didn't I? I almost committed suicide!"

I knew this; he once chased a girl all the way to her hometown, only to end up penniless and homeless
, when he saw her and another man walking out of a dance hall. Enraged, he beat the man up, got
arrested by the police, and was only rescued thanks to his friends' long-distance rescue.

Now, he's slept with a whole platoon of women. This included nurses, doctors, respected female teachers, and
enviable female college students.

Hearing his story, I felt like my heart was being cut by a knife: "Women, are you really that despicable?!
"

Finally, my friends told me, "Believe it or not, do as we say!"

As a result, in less than a week, I slept with that girl and released years of pent-up depression
! This was my first girlfriend, and I cherished her. She was also very attached to me, but our relationship was met with
unanimous opposition from my mother and friends! This was the first time my mother and the "hooligans" in her eyes had stood on the same side.

My mother expressed extreme disgust for my girlfriend for two reasons. First, the girl's family was not wealthy, and
her parents were not from the intellectual class, so we were not a good match; second, my mother thought she was not a good girl, and she knew
that she had had a relationship with me. It was only when my mother raised her first objection that I said, "She's been... that, something
..." trying to win her back, that my mother found out. But she didn't see the other woman as making a sacrifice; instead, she thought
she was indecent.

Her friends' reasons for objecting were quite different. They said, "Really? You're done after just one?
"

"Yesterday I said you were smart, that you'd learn in no time, but you're a fucking idiot."

"I thought you'd won her over, looks like she won you over." When

my girlfriend and I went home together, my mother gave her a hard time. My friends were also causing trouble; they were busy introducing me to
another girl while simultaneously trying to stop us from continuing our relationship. Their method was simple: every time we met up, if I tried to call my girlfriend
out, they would snatch the phone away or declare beforehand, "If she comes, we leave; it's either her or me.
"

Actually, what man doesn't want to sleep with a few women? I'm a man too, and I was tempted by my friends' suggestions,
but I doubted my own abilities; after all, the shadows accumulated over so many years aren't easy to erase. Once
I got on track with another girl, I slowly forgot about the first one.

My friends painted a grand picture of my womanizing plans: after I've slept with most women, they want to introduce me to middle-aged women.
Married women, middle school girls, etc., and I was supposed to play with all the women they'd been with first. I was absolutely
ecstatic!

But things didn't go as well as I'd hoped. Two of my friends soon went to do business in other cities
; another suddenly lost his parents in a car accident, and unfortunately, he was a filial son, so he was devastated; the last one even
slept with the daughter of a deputy director of the Public Security Bureau, and ended up being convicted of hooliganism and imprisoned, so we all broke up
.

With rich experience in playing with women and correct theoretical guidance, but lacking the help of my friends, I still couldn't
go it alone, and slowly I reverted to my old ways. My second girlfriend stopped seeing me before we even slept together. My first girlfriend
married someone from another city and left.

I kissed away her longing for her lover, comforted her lonely pussy,

and life became empty and boring again. At this time, I had been working in my hometown for a year because the company opened a branch there.

One day, I was sitting in front of the computer playing games out of boredom, smoking, and putting one foot up on the stool. My
mother came over and told me to smoke less, which was normal. I ignored her, which was also normal. But when she
came over for the fifth time to repeat herself, it was very strange.

Before, I hadn't even looked at her, just focused on my game. The fifth time, I glanced at her, and she quickly looked away
and walked away. But I had already caught her gaze, and looking down, I realized that my shorts were too loose
. When I put one leg up on the stool, the leg slipped down, exposing half of my buttocks and testicles.

I was extremely embarrassed and wanted to curse. In

the afternoon, I was watching TV and unconsciously put my feet on the sofa and fell asleep. My mother went out to buy groceries
and came back when I woke up. As soon as I opened my eyes, I found her squatting at my feet, tidying up the things she had just bought. That
spot used to have a flower stand and a few pairs of old shoes, which my mother had never done anything to before; the shoes were covered in a thick layer of
dust.

Remembering what happened that morning, I glanced down at my pants. There was a gap, and one leg was propped
up on the coffee table, wide open. I reached in and touched it, but before I could get very far, I touched a cold bird egg. My mother's unusual
expression confirmed my suspicions. Her gaze was unfocused; she didn't dare look at me and hurried away.

I thought for a moment, then pretended to be asleep again. My mother actually squatted down at my feet, tidying things up! Her head was so low,
lower than the sofa armrest. After a while, she looked up, glanced at the door behind me, and gave me a quick look, but I still pretended to be asleep.
Then, my mother slowly lowered her head until her eyes were level with the sofa armrest, and began to
look, intentionally or unintentionally, into my pants leg. I had a sudden inspiration and started to snore softly.

In an instant, my mother's expression completely changed. From nonchalant to extremely focused, from peeking out of the corner of her eye to
staring intently.

It was the first time in my life I had seen my mother look at me with such an almost greedy gaze—an unforgettable experience!

The past attempts to hide have become a stark reality!

From that day forward, I made an astonishing decision.

Back then, there were no computers or the internet; the computer I used required inserting and removing two discs alternately
. Games were just long, scrambled programs written in basic programming. Incestuous literature online
was unheard of.

I felt alone, burdened by a deep sense of guilt. The only thing supporting me was Freud's
theories of psychology. During that time, I actually read quite a few psychology books. My mother also loved to read; she usually read
biographies of famous figures from ancient and modern times, both Chinese and foreign. She would often sit under the lamp late at night, wearing her reading glasses. I once read one of her books; the margins were densely covered with
philosophical sayings, but she seemed unable to finish even a single page for days. She usually gave the impression of a scholar, with noble manners
and commanding respect.

You can imagine why it shocked me so much when she squatted behind the sofa, staring intently at my genitals
!

Because the contrast was too great!

One day, I deliberately showed the book to my mother. She said she wasn't interested. I insisted several times, and she agreed to look at it,
but seeing her reluctant expression, I knew she wouldn't take it seriously.

Later, I found out she really hadn't read it, so I took the book back, saying, "The author of this book is strange; he
thinks incest is normal." My mother looked up, her gaze passing over the top of her reading glasses, and said, "I haven't read it yet
." I said, "I thought you'd finished it. Do you still want to read it?" She said, "Have you finished it?
" I said I had, and she said, "Then leave it here; I'll read it when I have time."

The next day, I discovered that my mother had already read the book.

I didn't know what she thought after reading it; outwardly, there wasn't much change. Or rather, not
the kind of change I expected. However, she seemed much nicer to me. During this time, I seemed to focus all my energy on my mother
. Sometimes I really didn't know what had gotten into me!

About two days later, I asked my mother if she had finished reading it, and she was unusually vague.

"What?" I asked.

"Finished reading, a little bit." She finally managed to utter a coherent sentence, her gaze darting around.

I took the book and examined it carefully, and sure enough, I found a sentence she had underlined. I don't remember the details, but it
was something like, "Every son has a crush on his mother." Then, while she was around, I wrote something in the book. She asked me
what I was reading, and I answered, then marked the book and inserted it randomly on the bookshelf.

What I wrote was: "At least that's how I feel."

It was right next to the sentence my mother had underlined.

When I came home from work, I immediately noticed the book had been moved. But unfortunately, my mother hadn't added anything else.
However, my usually serious mother gave me several rare smiles that night. I had never seen my mother with that
expression before, and I was momentarily at a loss, only managing to regain my composure and return the smile the next day.

There were many similar incidents afterward, which I don't want to describe in detail, but a few major breakthroughs are worth mentioning
. I watched pornographic videos late at night, deliberately letting my mother see me. Then I taught her how to use the VCR, and she borrowed some science
popularization videotapes from me. Soon after, she discovered that the marked yellow tapes had been tampered with.

I started wearing underwear at home, and soon my mother was also often seen walking around the house in just her underwear. Her figure wasn't great,
and sometimes I found it a bit annoying. So I encouraged her to do aerobics. At first, she said it was boring, but a month later I
found out she was already participating.

I asked her to demonstrate aerobics for me, and she agreed, doing some movements in a high-slit aerobics outfit.
Although I tried to control myself, I quickly got an erection. My mother saw this and walked away. I also invited her to the movies, and she went. Soon
it was her birthday, and I bought her a gift and flowers, which made her very happy. Her expression was different from anything I'd ever seen before.

My mother started acting like a woman, not the strong woman she used to be; her voice became much gentler.

When she was doing laundry, I would give her a pair of underwear separately and ask her to wash it for me, which she did very carefully.

I wrote in my diary: "I love seeing her in aerobics and cheongsams." My diary also contains some of my
erotic dreams, recorded in a very subtle way. Many of them are about my mother.

The diary was on the table, and I discovered it had been touched.

On the third day, my mother wore a cheongsam, and I said it looked beautiful, very beautiful. My mother started doing aerobics at home
, and I would come out to watch each time. She would watch the instructional video on TV, practicing the movements, while I sat on the sofa watching. She would turn around
and ask me if I was doing it correctly, and I would deliberately let her notice me looking at her private parts. I pointed out that she wasn't lifting her legs high enough, and went up
to help her lift her thighs a little higher. Seeing that she was wearing long stockings, I said that it wasn't good for her skin to breathe. The next day,
she stopped wearing them.

I immediately bought her a new leotard, but she said it was a swimsuit, yet she wore it anyway.

I frantically collected information about incest, cutting and pasting it into a notebook. Some were borrowed from the library; I
made copies, but not wanting to spend too much money on copies, I just copied some. Soon, I
added my own opinions to real examples and critical investigations, mixing the truth with falsehood.

I wrote: "According to research by American scientists, humans have an innate tendency towards incest." Scientists believe that incest
is unacceptable from a eugenics perspective, but acceptable from a love perspective…”

Of course, I put it on my desk again so my mother could see it.

One afternoon in July 1996, my mother was doing aerobics in the swimsuit I bought her, and I
sat on the sofa watching her in tight underwear. Her figure was much better than before. During this time, I had
the experience of touching my mother's inner thighs and danced with her a few times on the spot, each time ending with laughter. My mother had completely become a woman.

When she asked me to help her stretch her legs again, I found her posture very alluring today.

My mother supported herself with her hands on the ground, one leg kneeling, the other leg stretched straight back and raised, asking me to help her raise it higher.

I saw a brownish indentation around the outside of my mother's labia majora at the narrow crotch of her underwear, with a few pubic hairs on it.
I picked up her thigh and tried to rub my swollen penis against her leg, and she didn't seem to notice. I squatted down
, my knees touching her genitals. Her body contracted slightly, then relaxed, and she immediately asked, "Is this how?"
I said, "Almost there. Can you go a little higher?" She said, "Try it."

I held her knees with one hand and slid the other down her thighs to her buttocks.

After a while, my mother stood up, panting, saying she was tired. I told her to change positions, and she asked what. I stood
in front of her, leaning back until my hands were on the ground. My penis was bulging under my underwear, aimed at her.

Then I said, "Oh dear, I can't stand up." My mother laughed and helped me up, my penis pressed tightly against her
lower abdomen. After we got up, I held her, panting, saying my back almost broke. My mother just laughed.

Then I helped my mother and asked her to do the same. My mother laughed and said she was old and her back was stiff, so she couldn't do it. I
told her she was very young and that I was there to protect her. With my support, my mother slowly leaned back.

My mother's thighs were spread wide, our genitals pressed together through two thin layers of fabric.

Before my hands even touched the ground, she said she couldn't take it anymore and asked me to help her up. I jokingly refused, and she struggled
to get up on her own, but she wasn't strong enough, causing our genitals to rub together.

After I picked her up, she felt dizzy and leaned against me. At this moment, I became excited and boldly touched her buttocks
. After touching her, she said she was fine there, but her lower back was a little sore, and she asked me to massage it for her. I felt a little guilty, so I
moved my hands up to her.

After massaging for a while, she said it was okay and got up and walked away. When she turned around, I saw that her crotch was wet
.

The next morning, I put the underwear stained with semen on the bed, and my mother took it to wash.

After work in the afternoon, I asked my mother to teach me aerobics, and she agreed, carefully avoiding looking at my genitals.
I also did her provocative move, and I believe my testicles had already pushed open a crack in my underwear, but I don't know how much my mother saw
.

We did the backbend exercise again, and I was so excited that I asked my mother to dance. As usual, she
said she didn't know how, but I still said, "I'll teach you," and hugged her.

It was getting dark, and we didn't turn on the lights, only the fluorescent light from the TV illuminated the room.

Then I asked my mother to do a cheek-to-cheek dance. Of course, I didn't say the words "cheek-to-cheek dance," but instead asked her to
put her arms around my neck. My mother said, "That's fine." I insisted, letting go of her
waist, and she had to put her hands on my shoulders. I pushed her hands to my neck, and only then did she hug me.

After dancing for a while, I touched my mother's buttocks, and my fingers slipped under her crotch, finding it wet and slippery. Then my mother
said, "Can you massage my back? It's a little swollen." Learning from yesterday's experience, I said, "Let me help you unblock
the meridians in your back." My mother said, "Okay, do you know how?" I said, "Of course I do." Then I
touched her from her shoulders to her buttocks.

"This is the Mingmen point, the coccyx, the perineum." I said, touching down, feeling a sticky, slippery fluid.
I felt myself losing control and kissed her. My mother smiled and dodged. Suddenly, I slipped my hand under her swimsuit at the hip and touched her
buttocks. My mother glanced at me and pulled her body to the right, but I still felt her genitals, wet.

"Don't do this," my mother whispered, pushing me away.

I refused to pull out, and she tightened her grip, almost to the point of a fight, before I finally withdrew.

My mother wrapped her arms around my neck again, and I slipped my hand inside her pants, this time touching her genitals directly. My mother
warned me in a low voice, "Stop it, just dance properly." She pushed my hand away again.

We continued dancing, and I kept kissing my mother, who would occasionally flinch. I also kept touching her buttocks, pulling
her blouse up to her buttocks and touching her flesh directly.

My mother didn't object to me touching her buttocks anymore, but when my hand moved down again, she would suddenly stop, looking at
me until I pulled my hand out, before continuing to dance with me. I wanted to put my tongue in her mouth, but her lips were tightly closed,
resisting my entry.

After a while, I stopped, feeling deflated. My mother asked, "Not dancing anymore?" I stubbornly refused to answer, and she said,
"Then Mom will go cook." Seeing that I didn't react, my mother went back to her room to change and then went to the kitchen.

The next day, I was absent-minded all day. When I got home from work, I saw that my mother wasn't doing her aerobics, and
all the pent-up anger from the day seemed to dissipate. I sat on the sofa without saying a word. My mother asked if I wasn't feeling well, and I asked her why she
hadn't done her aerobics. She said she felt very tired and didn't want to move.

After dinner, I went downstairs for a walk to try and calm my nerves. A little girl kept pestering me to buy her flowers, so I bought her
a red rose and brought it back to give to my mother. My mother was very happy to receive the flower. A little while later, she went back to her room, changed into her swimsuit, and came out to do
her aerobics.

After a few repetitions, I went up to her and hugged her. I didn't say anything about dancing; I just held her close. My mother looked at me and smiled, "
What's wrong?" I pressed her head into my arms, not letting her look at me. After a while, seeing that I wasn't speaking, she pulled away to look at
me again, and I finally said, "Let's dance." Then I put on some music and turned off the lights.

We embraced silently, swaying to the music for a while. Then I started kissing my mother again, touching her buttocks; she didn't object
. I tentatively touched her crotch, which was still dry. Seeing she didn't react, I boldly used my fingers to lift the
fabric covering her buttocks and slip them inside. My mother's labia were also dry, but when I touched the middle, I found that the two labia were full of nectar
, which immediately seeped out along my middle finger.

At this moment, my mother raised her head, her face stern, and said, "Don't touch Mom there." Fortunately, her tone wasn't harsh.

After a few more attempts to resist, my mother didn't refuse my touching of her vulva anymore; she just hugged me tightly,
rubbing her face against my shoulder and neck.

After touching her for a while, I carried my mother to the sofa. She sensed that something was about to happen and refused me. I don't remember
what I said, but it was something like "I love you."

In the midst of the struggle, my mother cried out, "My clothes are torn!" I said, "It's okay, I'll buy another one." "I took the opportunity
to push up the swimsuit with its torn crotch, and

after much coaxing, I finally got it off. Once naked, I pulled down my underwear, exposing my penis. This was obviously very uncomfortable, but I didn't dare get up
. If I relaxed even slightly, my mother would run away.

Then I pressed myself against her, gently prying her thighs apart with my legs while trying to persuade her. My mother whispered, 'No.
' 'Be good, you can't do this.' 'No.' Finally, it became, 'Mom isn't feeling well, let's do it tomorrow,
okay?'

I said things like, 'I really want to…please…give it to me…I love you…'—the kind of nonsense women love to hear—and
explored with the head of my penis. My mother struggled, twisting her hips, trying to stop me from entering. This was almost exactly the same as when I slept with my first girlfriend
. I wonder if other women are like this too?

'Mom, just let me in for a little while, please…' I said, and my mother seemed to cry, whimpering, and then
stopped moving—that was tacit consent." I immediately found the opening and inserted my penis into my mother's warm body, completing our
first sexual encounter.

The pleasure of ejaculation was indescribable. Afterwards, I lay down, and my mother kept cursing me in a low voice, saying she wanted to
die. It wasn't until I had a second erection and pressed myself against her that she opened her lower mouth and closed her upper mouth.

The second time, we made love for a long time. I occasionally thrust in and out, but spent most of the time kissing her and talking to her. I told her about the times I had
seen her spying on me, but my mother denied it all, saying I was making things up, that it was all nonsense, and so on. I didn't
argue with her, but changed my story to lies that I had fallen in love with my mother when I was very young, things that women like to hear. I waited until my mother felt sweet inside
before slowly playing with her.

At this point, my mother stopped talking and let me do as I pleased. I carried her to her bed and did it for half an hour. She closed her eyes
and hummed softly. When I ejaculated, my mother hugged me tightly, making soft moaning sounds, her buttocks arching repeatedly until
I squeezed all my semen into her vagina.

When I woke up in the morning, I couldn't believe it was all real; it felt like a dream.

I kissed my mother awake, constantly asking myself: Is this real? Was I really touching my mother's breasts? Was I really touching
her genitals?

My mother opened her eyes, looking confused, thoughtful, and perhaps a little worried.

"Mom, you're still not awake?" I asked her. She smiled, looked at me, and stroked my forehead.

I rolled over and pressed myself against my mother, kissing her.

Our kiss was awkward; our teeth occasionally clashed, and our tongues flicked haphazardly. Later, my mother wisely took
a passive stance, reducing the impact.

My mother closed her eyes, her body rising and falling beneath me, occasionally taking deep breaths, as if trying to calm herself down.

I want to explain the difference between having sex with my mother and having sex with my girlfriend. I suspect everyone has a
gene that rejects incest, because every time I hold my mother and smell her scent, I have a feeling that it
erases my desire for her. And incestuous people experience a different force resisting this. For me
, this force was a forbidden pleasure. It was far greater than the previous force.

While showering, my mother and I had sex again, but I didn't ejaculate.

When I came home that evening, my mother was doing aerobics again. I took off my clothes and sat on the sofa to watch. She turned around
, was quite surprised to find me naked, and scolded me.

I laughed and went to take off her clothes, but she refused, saying I was vulgar, but finally let me. We had sex on the sofa
, and then went to the bedroom. After ejaculating, I lay weakly on the bed, and my mother held me, carefully touching my body.

A week later, our sexual relationship normalized, and we had sex once or twice a day.

Every day when I came home, my mother would open the door for me, put my things down, undress me, and then immediately hug me. I would ask her, "
Did you miss me?" She would nod, and then we would go to bed and make love. We were newlyweds, inseparable.

Then one Sunday, I took my mother shopping, saying I wanted to buy her something. When we arrived at the jewelry store,
my mother refused to go in. Only after my persuasion and the shop assistant's invitation did she finally enter.

I wanted to buy her a ring, but she was hesitant. When I asked her if it was okay, she always said, "You decide."
When it came time to pay, she haggled with the shop assistant, her attitude very unfriendly. Fortunately, the shop assistant didn't mind, but because of her, she
actually saved several hundred dollars.

When we got home, I hugged my mother and sat her on the sofa, took out the ring, and she immediately became shy. Another thing
that impressed me was that my mother's sitting posture had changed. In the past, like many middle-aged women, she would sit with her thighs
slightly crossed, body upright, and hands at her sides. Today, however, she lowered her head slightly, her legs together, and her hands
clasped on her knees. What moved me even more was that her calves were together, slightly tilted to the right, while her upper body leaned towards me to the left, an expression of boundless
tenderness and care.

This body language reflected my mother's inner world; she had completely come to rely on me, more than a thousand
words could express. At this moment, she was no longer the prim and proper, unsmiling mother who would often scold me with a stern face
. She had completely become my new wife.

Especially when I took her hand and placed the ring on her fingers, roughened by years of labor but still long and slender
, words could not describe the expression on her face.

My heart pounded wildly at that moment!

I haven't explained the meaning of that ring then, or even to this day, but we both understand. At least we both
think of it that way: it's our engagement ring.

Afterwards, my mother and I went to the bedroom and had sex. That was the most enjoyable and smooth intercourse we'd ever had since we started our relationship
. With a gentle pull, my mother gracefully stood up, her lightness like that of a vibrant young girl. We walked arm in arm
towards the bedroom, exchanging knowing smiles.

At the door, she paused, closed the door, and then followed me to the bedside, embracing and kissing.

I unbuttoned her cheongsam and discovered she had changed into new underwear, which I didn't know when she'd bought. Before, my mother
had made her own underwear from old fabric. I not only saw the new underwear but also felt my mother's emotions. The underwear wasn't particularly sexy
; what was sexy was my mother's sentiment: son, I belong to you.

My mother smiled shyly, and we kissed again. Her underwear fluttered down like leaves in the wind, while I
remained impeccably dressed in my suit. When I saw myself in the mirror, impeccably dressed, holding my naked mother in my arms, touching her
until she moaned softly, I felt an immense excitement.

Heh, it was like a client playing with a prostitute.

My mother, with her eyes closed, enjoyed my caresses and kisses, completely unaware that her son was treating her like a prostitute
.

This was a result of my friends' teachings.

However, I didn't actually see my mother as a prostitute; it was just a thrilling thought. I believe that even
if my mother knew my true feelings, she would forgive me.

After a while, my mother stood up, smiled at me, and gently loosened my tie and removed my
shirt. Then, seemingly embarrassed, she took off my pants, hugged me again, and pressed her breasts against my chest.

I put one leg on the bed, placed one of my mother's thighs on mine, wrapped my arms around her waist, kissed her, and rubbed her
vulva.

My mother opened her eyes and whispered, "The bed is dirty." I smiled, not caring at all.

After all, it wasn't me who washed the sheets, but my mother, so she was more concerned than I was.

My mother took her leg down, knelt down to untie my shoelaces, took off my shoes, then stood up, wrapped her arms around my waist, and
pressed her face against my chest.

It's worth mentioning that when my mother knelt naked in front of me to take off my shoes, I felt a strong surge of pleasure!
Her kneeling posture seemed to tell me: "Son, you've conquered me."

Perhaps it was that ring worth over three thousand yuan that was working? I thought: Actually, my mother and a prostitute aren't that
different, except the initial fee is higher, and you don't have to pay afterwards. Comparatively speaking, paying for a mother is more cost-effective than paying for a prostitute
. Of course, this was just for the thrill, nothing more.

After taking off my shoes, my mother and I held hands and went to the bed, kneeling opposite each other. I fiddled with my belt a few times, looked
at my mother, and she understood what I meant, smiling as she loosened my belt. Then I knelt higher, and she pulled my pants down to
my thighs. I sat down and crossed my legs, and my mother took off my pants and carefully placed them on the stool beside the bed, unlike
me, who threw her underwear all over the floor.

At this point, I was still wearing my underwear, but my mother didn't move, kneeling there, looking down at the bed. I went up and hugged her
, kissing her. Her hands caressed my body under my arm, and then she finally started to take off my underwear.

I lay down, reaching out to pull my mother up, wanting her to lie on top of me, but this time she didn't understand. She
lay on her side next to me, so I had to turn over. She also turned and lay on her back. When I pressed down, she spread her legs.
Everything was perfectly coordinated.

My glans was wet and slippery, easily sliding into my mother's vagina.

This was the first time we made love in a brightly lit place. My mother kept her eyes tightly closed, not daring to look at me, her thighs wrapped around my
waist, her hands tightly around my neck. I used a nine-shallow-one-deep method to penetrate her. Occasionally, she would open her mouth and silently
exhale.

After all, I was born of her, and our reproductive organs were very compatible. My mother's vagina and my penis
were almost the same length. When I inserted it to the hilt, with a little more force, I reached my mother's clitoris. If I thrust in too hard
, my mother's body would involuntarily tremble.

She was taking deep breaths, seemingly trying to suppress the pleasure. I gently patted her, signaling her to relax.

During ejaculation, my mother's whole body tensed, clinging tightly to me until a minute after I finished, when she finally relaxed. As
she hugged me, her vagina contracted rhythmically with her panting breaths.

We sat very close during dinner. We didn't say much, just smiled at each other from time to time. In all my life
, I'd never seen my mother smile so much.

After that, we shared a bed for a year, and I estimate I ejaculated a whole bucket of semen inside her during that time
.

For a while, she stopped bodybuilding, seeming lazy and prone to being coquettish. After my persuasion,
she resumed exercising, and her figure improved significantly. Of course, she couldn't compare to a teenage girl, but compared to her peers, even those
twenty years younger, she was quite good. I often bought her expensive shower gel and skincare products, making her skin
smooth and supple. She also took great care of herself, even wearing gloves when washing vegetables.

The only drawback was that her breasts just wouldn't grow bigger.

The first time I gave my mother oral sex was at night. I was already in bed, and she went to take a shower. After she finished, she wrapped a towel around herself and got into bed. Suddenly,
I had a whimsical idea, pushed her down, spread her legs, and buried my face in her. My mother was startled, thinking I was going to bite her there
, and cried out in pain. After I licked it open, she became extremely excited, producing a lot of fluid, which had a slightly fishy smell, but it was still
bearable.

Later, I asked my mother to lick my penis. She didn't want to refuse, but seemed reluctant, licking it a few times. I felt
that forcing it wasn't enjoyable, and the feeling wasn't good, so I said, "Forget it, if you don't want to lick, then don't." My mother hesitated and asked
me, "Will you kiss me after you're done licking?" I said, "Of course!" It turned out she was afraid I would find her dirty.

My mother then confidently sucked my penis. After a while, to prove myself, I pulled her up and kissed her hard,
sucking out her saliva and swallowing it. To be honest, it was a little disgusting because she seemed to have held her saliva in her mouth for a long time. But
after that, things got much better. When my mother sucked my penis, I could feel her tenderness, and she kept swallowing her saliva
. I made her eat semen once, and she said her throat felt uncomfortable afterward.

Once, after I ejaculated, my mother put some of my semen in my mouth and let me taste it. I ate it and found it salty and
fishy, yet also bland. My throat felt numb, which wasn't very pleasant, so I refused to let my mother eat my semen again
. Unexpectedly, my mother seemed to enjoy the feeling again, saying, "The numbness is also fun." So later,
when she was happy, she would still suck my penis until she drew out the semen, then swallow it.

We also tried anal sex, but my mother didn't like it, so we did it less often. I hope she'll change her mind someday.

That year, we tried everything, including various positions, but ultimately we both felt that face-to-face embracing
and penetration was the most pleasurable and intense. We also tried sneaking off to hotels to experience new environments. We even tried
having sex in a park at night while traveling, but I found the pleasure wasn't great when I ejaculated, so we stopped.

A year later, our passion had waned somewhat, but we were still very loving. My mother suggested I find a girlfriend, promising
she wouldn't be jealous.

Around this time, my friends all came home, and I spent more time with them chasing girls, spending less time with my mother.

When I came home at night, my mother would always complain, but as soon as my penis entered her vagina, she would become as docile as a puppy
.

Soon, I found another girl and brought her home to live with me. My mother secretly asked me if the girl was a virgin, seemingly
more concerned about it than I was. I said, "Where are virgins these days?" My mother looked down on that girl and allowed
me to find another one.

My live-in girlfriend was unwilling to be dumped and came to our house to make a scene several times. My mother scolded her mercilessly and drove her away, ending the relationship
. Soon after, I slept with a second girl, a clerk at a company. She was very beautiful, but not a virgin either.
However, this time when my mother asked, I lied and said she was. My mother was very happy, treating her like a future daughter-in-law and urging me
to get married quickly.

A year later, my girlfriend became pregnant, and we prepared to get married.

The night before the wedding, my girlfriend went to stay at her parents' house. My mother and I hadn't been together for a long time,
so given the chance to be alone, I naturally didn't hesitate to go to bed with her.

After we had sex once, I told my mother to put on her wedding dress, and then we had sex on the wedding bed. My mother said, "How could you even
think of that?" while her body writhed excitedly.

After the wedding, life at home became peaceful. My wife soon gave birth to a son, and my mother loved taking care of her grandson, finding a new
purpose in life.

Whenever my wife was around, my mother reverted to her old ways, not even letting me kiss her, afraid of being seen. Once, when
my wife was in the bathroom, I secretly said to my mother, "Don't wear underwear." She asked curiously, "Why?" I
felt very awkward. Another time, during dinner, my wife went to the kitchen, and I secretly touched my mother's thigh, startling her so much that she
almost dropped her bowl, and whispered angrily, "Are you crazy?" Sometimes

, I would sneak out from work to rekindle our old flame with my mother, but it was always a rushed affair, never enough
to fully enjoy ourselves. Occasionally, when my wife was away on business or there were company events, we could finally immerse ourselves in sex again.

Spending so much time with two women, I naturally compared them, and my mother seemed
quite interested in my wife's sexual prowess. Out of female modesty, she was hesitant to ask, but whenever I brought it up, she listened intently
.

To be honest, my mother wasn't as good as my wife in many ways. Having given birth to three children, her vagina was naturally looser, though her
vaginal fluids were thicker and less abundant, compensating for some of the friction. Besides, my mother was over fifty
; her face had many wrinkles, her hair was streaked with gray, her breasts were small and sagging, and her nipples pointed downwards. She
also had a lot of fat on her lower abdomen, always looking like she was three months pregnant. Although compared to women her age, my mother was well-maintained
, she was far inferior to my youthful and beautiful wife.

However, because I enjoy excitement, my mother's shortcomings due to old age became virtues in my eyes. That's
why I truly felt: I was having sex with my own mother!

Also, my mother was very conservative. Every time we slept together, we used the traditional method. Because we were mother and son incestuous
, she had a deep sense of inferiority and was very concerned about my attitude towards her. She disliked me making her lie on the bed and then
having sex with her from behind like a dog. I wanted her to imitate the actresses in adult films, but she said she didn't want to imitate those sluts. At that
moment, I thought to myself, even if they're slutty, they wouldn't stoop so low as to sleep with their own son. Of course, this was something I absolutely couldn't say out loud.
I wanted her to peek at my wife and me making love, and she called me vulgar.

Compared to my mother, my wife is a hundred times more open-minded. She's tried every position we've seen in adult films. Once, I
asked her if she wanted to do bestiality, and she said, "I'd do it if you let a dog do it." She meant it, but I didn't want to let a dog do it, so the matter was dropped. I also asked her about her opinion on incest, and she said, "
Whatever other people like is none of our business." Once, we were watching an adult film, and I pointed to an actor having sex with his mother
and said, "If we have a handsome son in the future, would you want to have sex with him?" She retorted, "Have you
slept with your mother?" I pretended to be angry and ignored her, but inside I was terrified and never dared to ask that question again
.

Besides the forbidden thrill, my mother's advantage over my wife was her snow-white skin; I've never
seen a living woman whiter than my mother in my life. And then there's my mother's unparalleled suppleness. Women
are generally soft, but compared to my mother, it's nothing. She's practically boneless and muscleless. Holding
her, even without committing adultery, is incredibly comfortable.

My sisters' beauty is no less than that of Miss Hong Kong or Miss World, arguably even surpassing
them, but I've never felt any sexual interest in them from childhood. I find this strange. This is probably
a result of natural selection and evolution, a kind of protective measure.

In fact, you can observe that women become less attractive after giving birth to boys, and more attractive after giving birth to daughters; and sons
usually resemble their mothers (this is more easily seen in interspecies reproduction), while daughters usually resemble their fathers (most people don't
experience sexual desire for themselves, and perhaps have less sexual desire for those who resemble them more). Are these changes also to
prevent incest between mothers and sons, fathers and daughters?

My sisters went their separate ways after finishing school, spending less time with me. When we were little, we were at odds over toys and
such, with little affection between us. I don't know what the future holds. If anything happens, I'll write it
down for my readers.

I originally thought our sex life, like that of a typical married couple, would decline over time and eventually cease, but it
hasn't been that bad yet. I think it's because we can't fully satisfy each other. Especially
after I read my first incestuous article online, I suddenly felt a strong sense of identification. My mother read it too, and then we reached a new peak
.

In the past year, my mother and I have had sex far more often than my wife, and the location is more often in the kitchen than in bed
, usually right after I get off work. Because my wife sells vegetables, she usually gets home half an hour later than me, and my mother and I
take advantage of this opportunity to have our affair. At this time, my mother is usually in the kitchen cutting meat or washing rice, and I go straight
to the kitchen as soon as I walk in. If she's not there, she'll be washing clothes in the bathroom.

When my mother is sexually aroused, as soon as I reach out, she will put down what she's doing, turn around and hug me,
and then we'll kiss and caress each other in the kitchen. My mother prefers me to touch her, but rarely initiates it. While
touching me, she'd reach under her skirt to pull down her panties, then pin her against the kitchen wall and rape her.

My mother usually wears skirts, occasionally a robe, which means she's interested. If she's not wearing anything underneath, it
's very stimulating. Even if I'm not really interested, she'll use oral sex or something to arouse me.
If she wears trousers, then it's hopeless; no matter how much I touch her, she won't get wet. Whenever I see my mother wearing trousers,
I get annoyed. However, both of these situations are rare. Usually, I'm the one who initiates the touching, and she'll become aroused in less than three minutes
. All things considered, it's more often I'm not interested than my mother.

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